


Ghosts of the Past (A Sasuke Oneshot)

by Cinnabun_Frosting



Series: Grounded Lightning [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Depression, F/M, Leaving Home, Loss of Faith, Mangekyou Sharingan, One-Sided Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, POV Uchiha Sasuke, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sad, Sad Ending, Snow, Uchiha Sasuke Being an Asshole, Uchiha Sasuke Has Issues, Uchiha Sasuke-centric, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnabun_Frosting/pseuds/Cinnabun_Frosting
Summary: Sasuke runs away from her for the last time.(Disclaimer: I don't own Sasuke or any of the characters. They're the work of Masashi Kishimoto. I only own the storyline.)
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Series: Grounded Lightning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588081
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Ghosts of the Past (A Sasuke Oneshot)

He knows that he shouldn't be here. No, he tells himself. Leave. You don't deserve to see her.

Go. Now.

Every fibre in his being strains to move, to obey his harsh thoughts, to turn away from the village gates, from the place which harbours the girl he's wanted his whole childhood and the majority of his teenage years, though he would never have admitted it to anyone, even to himself. It stands no chance against his heart, though, which screams at him to stay, to move forward and make his presence known to the girl. To be the one who initiates for once, the one who makes her green eyes light up with joy, the cause of her laughter. To treat her like she deserves to be treated, like she's always deserved to be treated.

The air makes his breaths come out in puffs of white. _Funny._ He hadn't even noticed the weather getting chillier. Perks of having an affinity for fire and lightning elements, he supposes. Or maybe an Uchiha's body is just made to withstand the cold more. Their body always ran at higher temperatures, anyway. He's been standing still for a long time, though, and he knows that if he doesn't cover up or get somewhere warmer soon, he'll start getting cold.

Leave before anyone detects you. Turn away, you idiot. Move.

He grits his teeth at the effort it takes, but he's finally turning around, his motions painfully slow. Twice he almost gives up, but he perseveres, and finally he is faced away from the gateway he so desperately wants to be, from the girl he so desperately wants to see. Not that she's there yet. At this very moment, she should be getting ready for the date that he promised her in a moment of weakness. He still rebukes himself for it at every opportunity.

And now, despite all the reasons why he shouldn't do this, shouldn't be here, he is. Feet stuffed into dress shoes that are as uncomfortable as they are unpractical for the current weather, shoulders straining against a somewhat ill-fitting suit he bought off the rack because he couldn't find anything in his exact size. He even has in his hands a small bouquet of roses he'd gotten in the last village he'd passed in the morning that are slightly wilted and somewhat pathetic looking in his large hands.

Fool, he chastises himself for the millionth time. Miserable excuse for a human being. Retreat.

Except he hasn't seen her in months, hasn't had the chance to see if her hair is as silky looking and beautiful as he remembers, if her smile is still scrunches up her entire face, if her nose still has the few freckles that she always tries to cover up but he thinks is cute. He hadn't been in the village for a long time, but a Sharingan user remembers everything. It's both a blessing and a curse, he finds. Some things he wishes he could extricate from his memory for good. He closes his eyes, tips his head back. Flinches as the stench of death drifts into his nostrils, blank eyes and blood splashed across the ground crosses his vision.

_Run, Sasuke!_ echoes in his ears, the voice desperate sounding, holding the gurgle that comes with a pierced lung. A masculine voice uttering, _I will love you always,_ a gentle tap on his forehead. A wet feeling on his face, and his hand coming away red. Being covered in red. The tearing of tendons and breaking of bones, the sight of a boy with sun bright hair slumping over, mouth bloody. A choked breath in his ear, pink locks caressing his face. Screaming, screaming, always the terrified screaming. Ghosts of the past everywhere, always, surrounding him, stifling him.

The war is over, but sometimes he feels like he'll never be at peace.

This is why he'll never come back for her. Not because she isn't pretty enough or smart enough (Konoha knows she's one of the most desired kunoichi on the continent), not because she's annoying like he told her over and over before he left the village, walking the path of vengeance and darkness. Not even because he wouldn't know what to do if he ever saw her, talked to her like he wishes he could (probably something embarrassing like trip over his words and blush like a newborn).

She doesn't understand him. Not really. How could she, when she's never been tortured, never been touched with sick intentions, never had to go through something like the loss of a brother to a monster that is within her? And sometimes, when he wakes up choking on his own sweat and vomit, arms flailing with kunai in the air, the image of a snake's tongue at his neck and his brother's blood on his hands, his clan members' names on his tongue......

_Breathe,_ he reminds himself, gripping the bouquet with white knuckled hands. It's truly starting to look mangled now, the stems crushed and wrapping crumpled. A few petals have come off and are drifting gently to the snow covered ground below.

Besides, he of all people is the person who least deserves her, he who tried to kill her once. Sakura is special. Her purity should not be tainted by these bloody hands.

The tree branch he stands on creaks beneath the combined weight for his body and the weapons and things he is carrying, but it doesn't yield, used to ninja using it as a stepping stone on the way out of the village for missions. The bark beneath his shoes is worn smooth from the repeated rubbing. I just want a glimpse, he assures himself. Just a moment, that's all. One second, and he'll leave.

Why does that sound like a lie?

Utterly disregarding the alarm bells ringing in his head, he turns back to the gateway of the village, looking in from the vantage point of a high, leafy tree that even ANBU would be hard pressed to detect his presence in if he keeps his chakra concealed. The roses dangle in his loose grip, forgotten. A chakra signature flares. He freezes. _She's here._

And so she is, looking beautiful as the last time he saw her, pink strands framing deep green eyes lined with something that makes them seem even bigger than they are, dress highlighting the subtle curve of her hips. His sharingan flares without his consent, sharpening his vision and rememorizing the line of her jaw and the sharpness of her cheekbones. The reality is even more stunning than he can remember. He can't stop staring, marvelling.

_This is what you could have had._

Sasuke has a recurring fantasy where Sakura is leaning over him in bed, calling his name softly. _Sasuke._ Her breath is warm on his face, her hands on his chest. The bedclothes shift with his movement, her curves against his body lighting a fire beneath him. Her kiss tastes like home.

In the chilly winter air, he stares helplessly at the angel in the red dress standing in the snow. He's glad for the trees that remain green throughout the year, because otherwise he would be utterly exposed to her expectant, seeking gaze. The wind rustles, blowing in her direction. A few leaves from his tree come loose and blow towards her, brushing her cheek. His chest contracts with painful jealousy, compressed by the weight of years of yearning.

_You've seen her._

He has to go.

_Go._

His face is wet. The chill has taken complete hold of his bones. He releases the flowers from his grip.

_Now._

His back is to the village now, his feet poised to take flight.

_Move._

The world swirls at a single point on the branch of a tree. In the time it takes Sakura's gaze to reach the treeline, the portal is gone. The only sign of a recent presence is a single, tiny, rapidly freezing damp circle on the surface of the branch, and a bouquet of wilted roses on the ground below, the stems and wrapping paper still warm.

The wind blows, covering both with a fine coating of white.

All is still.


End file.
